


calling out (can you hear me?)

by orphan_account



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Genuine apologies for formatting errors and any grammar mistakes, Heavy Angst, I ported this off Docs AND i use mobile only bc tfw when no laptop, Major Original Character(s), Mild Language, My First Work in This Fandom, My first work published on/made for AO3 period actually, My headcanon for the IZ town is 'Denton' bc of We Are The Ants so keep that in mind heehoo, Past Character Death, Slight AU/what if? fic for Dib's Wonderful Life Of Doom, This was a 'writing in present tense' exercise gone off the rails btw, ZADF implied, song title is from Come by Namie Amuro, yes i know having an entirely original iz oc is major cringe ass nae nae baby activity let me LIVE, you get it pls firgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dib's dealt with several traumatic things over the years. Getting knocked out cold by Zim and meeting his dead mom, though? A strong contender for the #5 spot.
Relationships: Professor Membrane/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	calling out (can you hear me?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastel_x_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastel_x_tea/gifts).



> This is my first fic for AO3! It's also my first Invader Zim fanfiction. I've loved this series since I was four years old, so hopefully, I can do it and its characters justice. So if it's OOC or cheesy, just know that that's why. Anyways, enjoy!

"You don't even have a point here, do you?!" 

Zim and Dib tussle in a lonely alley somewhere in downtown Denton, and Dib tries to maneuver between flurries of hits. He rolls and ducks, all he can to avoid the unforgivingly sharp tips of Zim's PAK legs.

"I told you, Dib-monkey, I'll let you take a picture and share it with all your disgusting little Earth buddies… IF you can defeat me!" 

Zim sneers through a slimy smile, aware of what an unfair advantage he has against Dib. Dib knows that Zim could bash his brains into the brick wall and end it all, but he doesn't want to. He either likes toying with his prey, or has a loose moral code hidden somewhere in that yawningly empty mind of his. Dib can't pick which one is more on-brand for him. 

"This isn't even worth it!" Dib yells, nursing his many bruises. "You don't make much of an effort to conceal that you're an alien in the first place, and STILL no one believes me! So why even bother getting the crap kicked out of me if they'll just plug their ears, anyways?" 

Zim pauses and ponders, scratching the underside of his chin. He " _hmmm"'s_ to himself, brows knitted between his narrowed pink eyes, and his shoulders drop. "This entire thing was kind of contingent on you wanting the prize in the first place. Man, I am not great with planning ahead." 

"Clearly," Dib huffs, rising to his shaking legs. "I need to be home by now anyways. I've been here way too long. Go get dissected, or kidnapped, or cooked into frog legs... or something. Anything but wasting my time." He begins to leave the alleyway, tennis shoes slapping the wet pavement, but Zim objects. Dib should've known how obnoxiously persistent he'd be.

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY SO EASILY!"

Dib freezes in shock as he's whisked back into the alleyway by a set of legs, their unmalleable metal digging into his ribs. He cries out in alarm, hoping and praying someone comes out of the shadows to help him, to realise that an alien has snapped and is about to murder him. 

But no one came. There was no one out or about, because it's three in the morning in a nigh abandoned part of town, and the world doesn't bend around you just because you need it to. Even if you scream your throat raw and flail helplessly until your bones shatter, no one will magically manifest to come to your aid. 

When Dib finishes yelling himself hoarse, Zim decides to make quick work of him. The wind gets knocked out of him as he's slammed into the cold cement, and the last sensation he experiences is the icy metal tendrils of Zim's PAK. They're snaking around his waist and tightening, tightening, tightening. Something cracks. A final breath escapes.

Silence. Nothing. Oblivion. 

Three seconds. This sensation lasts three seconds, but to Dib, it stretches so far into forever that it reduces time to ash. A liminal space, contradicting its very own existence, but still existing nonetheless. Dib is aware of everything and yet he feels nothing. 

Click. Sizzle. Hiss.

___ 

Dib is. Dib is awake, and he exists once again. 

A pink mist shrouds this strange, sprawling world, and starch white petals float in the wind. They fall onto crystalline ponds, touching the surface, but never rippling. Dib rises to his elbows and take in the sight, finding himself atop a grassy knoll. 

He can see for miles ahead, strangely enough; not even his glasses can help him see this far, but it's like everything is put into high-definition. The landscape is dotted with plentiful orchards and meadows, all with blossoming cherry trees and rainbows of flowers. 

Dib rises to his hands and knees, smooths back his hair with a steady hand, and rises to his feet. When he manages to peel his attention away from what lies ahead, he looks below. Tufts of wild grass bunch under his boots ; they're patchy and uneven, stray, non-uniform, unusual - any and every adjective in the dictionary that makes Professor Membrane wince. It's nowhere close to his family's manicured lawn, but Dib likes it for that. It has personality. 

Dib, readjusting to reality, goes to feel his chest, expecting a broken rib (or many) from his encounter with Zim. Dib has come away with far worse, after all, and it shows by the scars that pepper him. When Dib gently prods his chest, though, he finds something far more unusual: that his chest is still. Not a heartbeat in his chest, nor the telltale rise-and-fall of breathing. 

Has he not been breathing? Dib should be long dead, but he doesn't worry about the semantics for once. He hasn't been breathing, and so what? Stranger stuff has happened to him. He's been through everything, from being transmogrified into baloney to serving as Mothman's divorce lawyer. So, instead of stressing himself sick about the meaning of it all, he opens his mouth wide and takes a breath in, as if testing his ability to do so.

Air, clear and real and freeing, floods his bloodstream. It's not like the smog in Denton, the one his father forces him to breathe because "City settings foster good citizenship, son!". Dib knows he doesn't have to breathe, that there is no worth in the action here, but that doesn't make it any less refreshing. A mindlessly necessary action, reframed as a privilege. It's an odd pleasure. 

Dib balances on the balls of his feet and falls backwards onto the plush grass, and to his surprise, he doesn't wince in pain from the itchy blades cutting into his skin. In fact, the grass feels softer than the universe's comfiest couch, and Dib relishes in it. This strange place seems to disobey every convention known to man, like a mirror dimension to the bleak world he normally knew. 

Riding the euphoria of the moment, Dib tucks his gangly arms and legs in, forms a ball, and rolls down the hill in all the giggling madness of a toddler. 

He screams with glee as the hill's slope sends him tumbling, his stomach made of steel and his head reinforced with diamond. Pure, unadulterated fun, the kind he didn't have anywhere on Earth. Stress and worries can't touch him here. He isn't Earth's savior, nor is he the family disappointment - he's just Dib, and he's having the time of his life. Like any kid should get to have. 

"Dib, honey, don't hurt yourself!" 

A voice rings out in the silence. Broken is the gurgling of the streams and the wind whistling between the trees. It echoes for miles, the honey tones seeping into Dib's bones and cementing them in place. His elegant roll turns into a final belly flop, and despite the grass's best attempts to cushion him, his entire body sings in a discordant symphony as it crashes to the ground. 

"Oh, crap, I did it again! Leave it to your mom to jinx it, huh? C'mere, let me check you for bruises. That was a nasty tumble, kiddo." 

Dib flatly refuses to look up. He aches and hurts all over, and a check-up wouldn't be undue, but he doesn't want to. It's been too long, and he's already let go. She's not real, not anymore. So Dib stays glued to the ground, glasses digging into his nose's bridge.

"You alright? Don't play dead on me, Dib Galileo! Your sister's pulled this before, too, and you know damn well she didn't get away with it… until we got the casket, anyway. Now get up, you goofball!" 

No. No. No. That's a hallucination. He must've hurt himself ; gotten a concussion or knocked something loose. Yeah. Yeah. That's all. His mom is gone, and she's just a voice chattering in his head right now. She's the same as Psychodoughboy or Mr Eff, just a vocal illusion, meant to mess with him for the sick fun of it. Even with his meds, that voice managed to make it through, that's all. 

She's not here, and she couldn't possibly be, anyways. She is the taste of freshly-baked chicken enchiladas and the feeling of a warm hug, not a tangible being Dib can touch and hear. She's no mother, she's a myth and a repressed memory that's better left in the vault. 

In the midst of his overthinking, a pair of arms wraps around Dib, and so bursts a floodgate filled with screaming, blinking panic. He at first kicks and lunges and fights, but quicker than he can process, " _No no no no hands off what the hell you have to stop now what the fuck are you get off me"_ morphs into " _Please don't let me go"._ The anxiety seems to melt away in her grip. Every point of contact feels healed, his body returns to a state of bliss, and the scent of cocoa butter lotion and Fabuloso floods his nostrils. 

He's completely pacified, and despite his better interests and his sharper instincts, Dib speaks.

"Mom?" 

The word feels foreign on Dib's tongue. It's an unspoken taboo in the Membrane household, one that is not spoken under any circumstances. Her pictures are gone and her stuff is in storage ; she stays an open secret amongst them. No one else speaks of her, either, and the occasional interviewer who mentions mystery women and tabloid affairs is met with a swift and stinging punch to the plastic-filled mug.

In the many years since her death, the word has been spoken once, and only once. Gaz, in all her preteen fury, yelled at Membrane, "Mom's lucky she's in the ground! She doesn't have to deal with you anymore!". 

Dib can't remember what Membrane and Gaz argued about in the first place, but he remembers it as the only time he's seen his father yell, and the only time Gaz has been sent to her room. In the trauma conga line of his life, Dib counts that night as one of the worst. 

But that doesn't matter. Dib's mother is here now, and she's holding him. Dib's so relieved that he doesn't mind when torrents of tears spill down his cheeks and onto the grass below. Wherever his long-held tears splash, spider lilies bloom. 

"Jesus, Dib-let, didja hurt yourself that bad? I cried less getting your big head outta me!"

Dib ignores the jab - hell, he even welcomes it. He raises an arm to his eyes and wipes his streaming tears, sniffling deeply. "No, Mom, I'm - I'm just fine. I'm better than fine, actually, I'm amazing." 

She loosens her grip on him and laughs. "You.. you are your father's kid, honey, I'll give you that. Always so strange." He wants to stay in her arms, as though she'll be gone if he doesn't, but he steps forward on shaking knees. He swivels his head, steels his stomach, and takes a good long look at the long-dead Dr. Lucretia Membrane. 

Violet hair forms in spiked locks, not unlike the thorned stem of a rose. Dark brown skin creases into dimples and laugh lines on her face, worn from years of deadpan quipping and chuckling herself sick at her husband's terrible puns. A coke bottle body with muscular arms, forged in nonstop bouts at the gym and years of digging up artifacts in scorching deserts. 

A face and a person that has grown fuzzy in Dib's mind, but has certainly never left it. 

"So, mom, um…" Dib rubs his arm, still tender from the fall, not yet able to meet her eyes. What could he even say to her? 

_"Hey, Mom, did you know that your death sucked the life out of the house? Did you know that I snuck your old computer out of the storage unit, and that I found out about how you and Dad were trying for another kid before you died? Did you know that I'm a total outcast, even at home, and that I just got killed by an alien?"_

An icebreaker would've been so much easier.

"I've missed you, Dib." "What?" "I've been waiting for you kids and your father. Been waiting for anyone, really. It gets awful lonely when it's just... me, myself, and I, you know?" "You've been here… alone, Mom?" 

Lucretia sighs and plops down, the grass rustling beneath her. She pats the floor besides her, beckoning her son forward. Dib complies, interest piqued. Dib now realizes that, despite all the growth spurts he's had since his thirteenth birthday, his mother still dwarfs him in comparison. As if she's reading his mind, Lucretia breaks the silence. 

"You're growing so fast, it scares me, Dib! You know, when I was your age, I grew just as fast. I was always the tallest in class pictures, and no boys ever wanted to date me, because who wants a girl who'll spend the whole dance using them as an armrest? I always thought I'd be too tall for love, that is, until I met your father. He made everyone around him look like midgets! Always banging his forehead on door frames and grabbing things that were too high for others to reach. It was love at first sight - or, as your father would say, first _height!_ Oh, how that man and his jokes always-" 

Lucretia stops mid-sentence. Dib stares in admiration and disbelief, as though he's witnessing the construction of the pyramids. Lucretia bows her head and pauses, taking a deep inhale and clearing her throat. "I'm… sorry. You know how I ramble! Add in the fact that I've been by myself for five years, and I just go off the rails."

Dib sits silently. He rambles, too, and just like her. He never would've known where he'd gotten it from. What other things did she give to him? He wants to know it all, and excitement bubbles in his stomach when he thinks about learning more. 

"So, do you…" Dib bites his lip, contemplating whether or not he should say anything. Dad always laughed him out of the room when it came to conspiracies; would Mom be any different? "Believe in aliens? Of course I do." 

Dib's eyes widen to gleaming saucers, the hairs on his neck prickling like the hackles on a cat. Did she really say that? Did Dib hear that phrase outside of a hazy dream? He can barely get his words out of his throat, rushing to say something, _everything,_ to her, but she gets there before him. 

"You've always been interested in the unorthodox, honey, I know that. Your father might brush it off, but I know there's truth to it. I mean, all this universe, and we're the only ones? Pardon my French, but I call bullshit." 

Dib looks to his mother with a look of pure wonderment, and a mischievous smile dances on her lined lips. "You - you believe me? Like, you really _believe me?_ " Lucretia ruffles his black hair and grins, her pearly white teeth catching the light. 

"Why wouldn't I? You're right, just about. If there can be giant squids and platypuses, why not Bigfoot? Thing could damn well be an offshoot of hominids… That, or it could be my boss. " "And aliens-``''Like I said, kid, it's impossible for there _not_ to be. It's - well, was - my _job_ to dig up things that are ancient, and some of those don't make a lick of sense… unless some kinda alien helped out, that is." 

Lucretia laughs heartily before regaining her (mostly serious) demeanor. "But really, kiddo, here's the thing: our universe is so massive, they probably wouldn't ever be able to reach out to us, even if they wanted to. Sucks, doesn't it?" "But mom, there _is_ an alien here! On Earth, right now, right here!" 

Lucretia's hair hardens to spears and she halts in her tracks. The air seems to solidify, all things frozen in the wake of the impulsive statement. "There's _what_?" 

Dib's stomach sours and his pupils shrink to dots. Oh no. He came on too strong, too honest, and she's probably going to think he's crazy. Just like Dad, and Gaz, and Foodio, and Ms Grundle from across the street, and-

"Kiddo, you gotta elaborate. Are we talking someone from Russia or Mars?" Dib's cheeks flush, and he bites his lip so hard that a fleck of blood is left on his braces. "Well, um, he's… from, uh, space, and I… ``''Space? Like, galaxy far, far away space?" "Yeah, but-" "Dib, sweetie, don't go mumbling on me, tell me _everything_. You've got my attention now, young grasshopper, use it wisely." 

Dib can't believe any of this. Is she asking for his opinion? For his thoughts and ideas? All of this is so brand new, and he can barely contain his jitters. "I can tell you everything! Here, just-". 

Dib reaches for the air, and deflates when he realizes that his patent briefcase is God-knows-where. It's definitely not here, wherever here is, though, that much is for sure. Dib rubs the back of his neck, disappointment seeping into his guts. 

"I, uh… Well, you see, I normally have-``''You looking for this?" 

Lucretia pulls none other than his leather briefcase out from literal thin air, and despite the utter impossibility of this, she wears a blase expression. Dib looks on in disbelief, rubbing his eyes with calloused knuckles. How in the world did she do that? "Oh, I forget you're new here. That's just how it works here - want it? You've got it. For instance-" 

Lucretia squeezes her eyes shut, lip bit in concentration, and before her manifests a simple television. With it is a simple DVD player - both are rather boring, but they're functional, telling by the dim blue glow of the screen.

"It doesn't work fantastically for me, but it keeps me satisfied enough," she says, popping open the DVD slot. Inside is a copy of _Axel Assbuster 2: Bullets Are Forever._ With a flick of her wrist, the TV bursts into smoke, as though its molecules went on strike against the crystal lattice. "The third one was better, anyway." 

Dib wants to try this, now, too. Anything he wants in the world? Anything at all? He could have the Japan-exclusive action figure of Koneko-chan, or an entire library filled with French nihilist literature, or a humongous box of conchas, or-

But Dib realizes that those are all the things he could've bought with Dad's money. All those things could've been his, all of them would have sat next to his high grade telescopes and trenchcoats, but there was one thing that he never could buy. So, with intense focus sharpened by rising excitement, Dib makes a crystal clear mental image of his number one fantasy:

_A projector screen, bigger even than the one Dad uses in keynotes, and a mahogany podium. Thousands of audience members stare at him with wonder in their glowing eyes, and they waited with bated breath for him to speak._

When Dib opens his eyes, absolute awe fills him as he gazes on the scene. He can barely believe that its tangible, but judging by the cool wood of the podium beneath his fingers, it's realistic as can be. Everything he imagined, right down to the polished acacia floor with the stray squeaky board and enough microphones to smother the surface of the podium, have come to reality. Pseudo reality, anyhow.

"Well _done,_ Dib!" Lucretia chirps, clapping heartily from the booming front row. Despite the swarms of chattering audience members surrounding her, her and her voice stick out like a sore thumb through the din. "This is 

beyond impressive, especially compared to what I can make! Bravo, Dib-issimo!" 

The crowd joins in on her applause, waving their arms and swinging up signs declaring their love for him. Dib can feel the thundering claps in the marrow of his bones, and a euphoria unknown courses through his veins as smoothly as his blood. They cheer and chant his name, and it's repeated so much by the screaming citizens that it becomes garbled in his own mind. 

_Dib! Dib! Dib! Dib!_

It doesn't seem like a real word anymore, and for that, he's grateful. This is a new name, a new word, a new Dib. It's not said in contempt with a sneer, it's said with a fist pumped in the air and a racing heart. So he scooped up his briefcase, took a deep breath and cracked it open.

"Evening, fellow humans. Tonight, I'm going to prove definitively that aliens ARE real, and not just that, but that one lives among us as we speak!"

__

"And so I took the spaceship, and I flew it RIGHT into his base! The whole thing was just… WRECKED! He was crying like a little wimp - " _'Nooooo, Dib-monkey, my precious base! MY BEEEEE!_ "" You shoulda seen it, mom! It was the funniest thing in the world!" 

Dib gestures wildly, mimicking and miming along to every word. Improvised sound effects ensue, and the ham is ramped up to 100. It gives a dramatic weight to the simplest of words - a recital of the Dewey Decimal could become dramatic theater with Dib at the helm. "Oh, my! Fourteen and already an alien fighter? Even your father waited 'til he was eighteen before he started kicking ass!"

Lucretia and Dib walk along a meadow path, flora snatching their vines away from their heavy steps. Dib has lost track of time, too caught up in chatting with his mother like a long-absent friend coming to visit. She shares his sense of humor, his thoughts and philosophies, his interests, even the strange snort when they belly laugh. 

His entire life, he's thought he'd failed as his father's protege, all because he didn't act remotely like the prestigious and upright Membrane. But he realizes now that he's just like his mother in that respect. Even some of their physical features are the same, like the dimples that dot their faces when they tell dirty jokes, or the long lashes that make their eyes look like a doe's. Dib isn't a fuck-up, he realizes now, he's just his mother's child. 

Dib pauses in place, a bashful smile spreading on his face. "You know, Mom, I'm… I'm really glad I got to see you again." "I'm glad, too, kid." 

Lucretia squeezes his shoulder with a cautious grasp, as though she fears she'll break him if she loses focus. Her fingers touch, but they don't dig ; her knuckles turn white, but her fist doesn't fully clench. It's the same grip that Membrane uses when Dib wins the science fair, or gets a perfect 100 on a test. It's not a show of submission or intimidation, it's an exchange of power. A silent way to say, " _I am willing to give up everything and anything as long as it means letting you know I love you."_

Dib has learned to pick up on the little things, and Dib only feels his love for his mother growing in the process.

Lucretia shifts her vision and pulls her hand away, and for a second, Dib thinks, " _Did I do something wrong?"._ She looks to the sky, its fizzy pink giving way to a splatter of rich purples and blues, and runs a calloused hand through the length of her purple hair, giggling nervously. "The day's setting already." 

Dib looks to the sky, and in what seems only seconds, any pink still remaining recedes, giving way to a butter yellow paper moon. It etches its reflections onto the clear pools beneath them and dyes the lillies a faded shade of orange. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Dib looks up at his mother. She looks wistful, an eerie silhouette cast in the moon's beams. 

"I'm used to it by now, though. Been seeing that same sky for… How long? You were… you were eight when I died - six years, it's been! Six years, I've seen that sunset!" 

Dib jaw clenches like a vice at the word "dead". His mother's flippant use of the term, the way she was perfectly able to just call herself _dead_ \- it caught Dib completely off guard, to say the least. Because, just like the word "mom", that word was all but banned, save for certain contexts. A phone could die, a fish could die, a conversation could die, but humans "passed away" _._ The phrase "over my dead body" earned the same gasp and scolding as cursing did. 

"Yeah, you… did die when I was pretty young, didn't you?" Dib doesn't like to reflect on the aftermath of his mother's death, and chances are, he couldn't if he wanted to. Each time his mind's pulled him in that direction, when the nights grow too silent or the jeering voices too loud, he remembers nothing but a ringing quiet consuming his and his family's life like a black hole. It's a feeling Dib wouldn't wish on his worst enemy - not even Zim. 

"You know, Gaz'd probably actually _murder_ me if she knew I told anyone this, but, um…" Dib trails off, and that catches Lucretia's attention. "What'd she do? She light something on fire again?" Dib forced out a stilted laugh, barely able to make his way past the lump in his throat. 

"Well, when you… Yeah, well… Dad knows how to cook, of course, he's Dad, but because he's _Dad_ , he doesn't have time to be cooking every day, so it's not like it helps much anyways-``''Dib, honey, don't get caught on your words. Just say what you're thinking. I'm not here to judge."

Dib bites his lip, hard enough to tear the skin, and squeezes his own arm hard enough that it turns a ghostly white. Holding back tears is _not_ a fun experience, but Dib has learned to master the art over the years. 

"Well, Dad didn't trust human babysitters or human cooks - high profile kids, he told us, ransom and stuff - so he made Foodio, a bot that would cook for us. And when he'd be gone for days at a time, like, on business trips and stuff, we'd… we'd go through your stuff, and we'd put your lipstick and perfume on Foodio. It… It helped, you know? To pretend that you were there, and that you were making us food, even though it didn't taste the same at all. And we'd wash it all off before Dad came home, best we could, anyways. We thought we were sneaky, but of course, we were _kids,_ so we were subtle as a freaking sledgehammer. One time, we both woke up at 3AM to the sound of Dad downstairs, so we snuck down, and we went down to the living room. Dad- Dad was..." 

Dib has to make a conscious effort to keep his voice from quivering. Even with all his strength going into preventing the dams from bursting, he can feel tears forming on his eyelashes. 

"We went down, watching from the staircase, and we saw Dad bawling his eyes out. Other than the funeral, it's the only time we ever saw Dad cry. It was an _ugly_ cry _,_ and he was holding onto Foodio like he was the only thing that would keep him from falling apart. We realized how badly we'd messed up, but even then, we still wanted to pretend, you know? But when we went to check your drawers the day after, it was completely empty. Only thing there was a picture of you and Dad - you were on your honeymoon, I think. We stopped trying to… I guess we tried stopping to think about you, after that. It just felt easier to forget." 

Dib is trembling, his throat feels dry and cracked, and he just wants to crumble into dirt and fade away. He's barely able to stand, the image of his father sobbing still fresh in his mind. He can't stop the unforgiving waterworks, dripping down his tan cheeks in rivulets. He wanted to forget that memory, to wipe his brain of the guilt that memory fills him with nearly six years later. 

He sees Lucretia moving quickly in his peripheral vision, kneeling down beside him to meet his height. Certainly her hugs will melt away the pain, just as it had when he first encountered her here. It'll be fine. Dib won't have to deal with it. This isn't home. It's not his house that's filled with luxurious junk, despite being completely empty, and he doesn't have to feel his father's disapproving glare when he catches him watching Mysterious Mysteries. 

Mom's alive here, and that means everything is ok. Right? 

Lucretia pulls him close, but this time, her touch is lifeless and cold, frost-bitten marble against Dib's body. She doesn't feel like summer mornings and bubble baths anymore; her embrace feels like the harsh grip of reality, coming to swallow Dib whole. Dib notices a distinct stench coming from her, too, one that he's done his best to push out of his brain: 

The dull smell of grave dirt. 

Dib had smelled it only once, and once was enough for the stench to still churn his stomach: when they lowered his mother's casket and threw dirt over the polished black hull, the smell branded the inside of his nostrils and the deepest folds of his brain. The moment they arrived home, his formal clothes went in the trash, the after-scent of death refusing to leave the black fabric.

Dib's sadness becomes too much, too heavy to handle on his frail shoulders. He collapses into her chest, noting her lack of a comforting heartbeat, and prays for a different feeling to overtake him. 

Doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Sometimes, people defined insanity like that. Maybe Dib really _is_ crazy. He sure as hell feels crazy. 

His tears have turned to convulsing sobs, racking his lanky frame like shockwaves. He can feel his mother's presence, cold and unfamiliar and awful, snaking through his veins and chilling his blood. Dib can barely speak between alternating gasps for air and seizing wails, but it seems he doesn't have to. 

"Dib, sweetie, are - are you okay? What's wrong? Please just tell me what's wrong." 

But her voice is empty, sapped of all comforting warmth. This is not the same voice that asked the up-and-coming Professor Membrane to marry her in a Taco Smell, it's not the same voice that sang Gaz and Dib to sleep after the family dog ran away, and it's most certainly not the voice that promised a family trip to Bloaty World if they brushed their teeth. It is hollow and meaningless and Dib despises it. 

In the quick instance she speaks, Dib's breath hitches, and he notices something: his heart has started thrumming again, erratic and unforgiving in his chest. Dib barely noticed its absence, but now, the roar of his blood pumping is deafening. His heart's working again, after hours and hours of radio silence on its end. He's alive.

The sun rises at dawn, and sets at dusk. Dib's mother is dead, and he is alive, and he's still mourning the combination of those facts. The simple truth of life. His dimension couldn't escape that, and neither could this one. Lucretia is long dead, and whatever this thing is, it's not her. Not really. And that makes Dib furious. 

Wiping the warm tears off his cheeks, Dib sniffles deeply and faces the thing in front of him, squaring his shoulders in spite of his shaking. "You - you're not my mom!" 

The thing frowns, and Dib finds a strong urge to sock it in the face. "What do you mean?" it says, voice somber. Dib's fists clench and his teeth grind so hard, he thinks they might turn to powder. "My mom is dead! She's gone, and I know that! I knew that all along, but I just… I just denied it. But I won't anymore! So just… leave me alone!" 

The thing exhales deeply, squeezes its eyes shut, and falls to it knees. Even with pure rage clouding his vision, Dib notices that it seems to be emoting for a change. It's almost… forlorn, it looks like, its sense of purpose fading and Lucretia's strong-willed demeanor quickly slipping away along with it.

"It's true. I'm… not your mother. I'm just her effigy, a projection based on all your memories of her. Even those your mind has locked away, from early infancy all the way to her unfortunate death. I'm a decent imitation. I'm the culmination of every minute you were with her in life, a total copy of your memories, completely free of the peskiness of childhood amnesia. But I don't know her inner feelings, nor any actual memories of her that _don't_ involve you. But I brought you joy. I sufficed, even if it was just for a little bit." 

Dib stays silent. His mind fills with ringing static, and his body goes rigid.

"You were made to… make me _happy?_ What even - what even are you? Who made you?" "Who made me? Well, I figure you'll find out soon enough, the way things are going here. And, I guess if you must know sooner or later… None of this was real, though I thought you'd figure that out on your own - if you'd spent longer here, anyways. This is a full immersion hologram, and all I am is a learning AI, tailored to your mind. The moment you leave, I stop learning. I stop existing. So no real harm to me for telling you, by the way." 

Dib collapses to his knees, his entire body feeling blank. Reality comes crashing down even harder than before: not only is his mother dead, but when this is over, he'll have to return to Denton. He'll have to put up with Gaz's torment, his father's absence, and a very real world to beat any leftover optimism out of him. A bitter pill to dry swallow, but it's necessary medicine. 

"So this whole thing… You… I'll never get to even _try_ to see my mother again. That - that kinda blows." "Why must you see her? Surely your memories are enough." "Memories? But those are just, well, memories! She's dead and gone, memories don't make up for that." "I'm simply a collection of memories held together by an algorithm. I kept you content for quite a long while, didn't I?" 

Dib thinks on the words for a second. It has a point, but a part of him deep down wants to rebuke it. For once, Dib's tongue follows his brain rather than his heart, and he stays silent. 

"Zim… Zim did this, didn't he?" Dib doesn't know why he's only put together the pieces now, but it'd be the only logical conclusion. The thing stays silent, lips pursed, and Dib takes that as confirmation. All he can do is blow out a breath and let his long-tensed shoulders drop.

Dib sees now that the thing slowly fading. It's glitching and flickering, and a subtle hum comes from it like the dying-down of a television screen. It's growing weaker by the second, and as Dib takes note of, so is everything around them. Every plant in meadow around them shrivels to dust, leaving bare branches and twisted vines. Dib is too enamored by the decay to think about the fact that this is Zim's doing. 

"Al mm os t ove er," it says, form wavering and wobbling like a failing transmission. Its voice is distorted, barely intelligible anymore, and Dib finds himself wishing it still sounded like his mother. The grass recedes into the ground, leaving a barren plot of dirt beneath Dib's knees, and the world at large seems to be breaking down to its smallest pixel. 

Dib knows the thing is not his mother. It's only a glorified hologram, probably meant to manipulate him into revealing his deepest secrets, or squeeze classified information from Membrane Labs out of him, or whatever lackluster scheme Zim's concocted this week. And yet, he still finds himself yearning to spend time with it, to feel like he's with his mother again. 

So, driven by nothing but heartache, Dib grabs the dying thing in a hug. 

He buries his face into its hollow waist, squeezing tight onto it. It's cold and unfeeling, but there's a strange comfort in getting to pretend. Dib expects nothing in return, but the thing catches him by surprise and wraps a muscular pair of arms around him and holds him close. He closes his eyes, trying his best to ignore the truth, and refuses to let go. 

"Ll o ve yyo, u, aa nd pr oud o yo uU," 

And when he feels Lucretia's form dissipate from between his arms, Dib re-enters the lonely nothingness. 

__ 

Dib wakes with a desperate gasp for air, strapped to a horizontal metal table. His chest heaves and his eyes dart frantically, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. His glasses are nowhere to be found, and everything is a blurry mess of colors and shapes. He's unsure of where he is, afraid deep down that this reality, too, will collapse. He wants to cry out, but his throat is far too dry and his body feels too tired. "Disoriented" is too weak a word.

Dib decides, however, that now is no time for panic. It's time for analysis. He ceases his shaking, inhales deeply, and his nostrils are met by the biting smell of sterilized metal and medical equipment. Now, time to use color scheme keys: the disgusting overuse of purples and pinks in this room - wherever it is - clue him in that it's somewhere inside Zim's lab. 

From somewhere across him, Dib hears the metallic scuttering of PAK legs approaching him, and a blur of green and purple makes its way over. 

Zim looms over Dib, holding something too small for Dib to recognize. Is he going to vivisect him? Murder him brutally and inefficiently with a spoon? Dib realizes that, though his wrists seem to be restrained, his legs aren't. Despite his entire body aching, Dib makes a decision in a split decision: 

He winds backs his thin legs, and he kicks Zim as hard as he can.

Zim's face is met with a boot sole, and the sound of plastic breaking rings through the lab. Zim recoils with a horrible squeal, rushing to rip off his now-cracked goggles. 

"HORRIBLE DIB-CREATURE! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY UNDER, AND INSTEAD, YOU'VE BROKEN MY PRECIOUS GOGGLES, BROKEN MY SIMULATOR, AND STUNK UP MY LAB WITH THE SALTY STENCH OF TEARS!" 

Dib should be angry, he should be utterly enraged at the little green pimple for everything he just put Dib through, but he only finds annoyance prickling in his stomach. 

Zim hisses in indignance, and tosses the blurry object into Dib's lap ; when he reaches for them, he realizes they're his glasses. He should feel remorseful that he tried to punt Zim for giving back his possessions. But he doesn't. "I don't care, Zim. Maybe you shouldn't have broken my rib cage and tied me up in your little lair if you didn't want me to kick your face in." 

As Dib slips his glasses back on, Zim juts an ungloved claw in Dib's face, grinding his square teeth. "You should be GRATEFUL to Zim for all I've done for you! I made you a happy, fluffy-shmuffy paradise to satisfy your grease-baby needs until the end of your pathetically short human lifespan! I gave you your eyeball enhancers! And you RUINED IT with your pitiful brain feelings AND your stuuuuupid foot!" 

Dib pushes against his restraints, wrists and legs painfully rigid, as though he hasn't used them in weeks. The moment he does so, the restraints come loose, the buckles popping open with a click. Dib rises, back stiff from lying on the cold metal, and rubs his reddened wrists. "Did you seriously not tighten these? How did you honestly expect me to stay in place if I woke up? You really are a dumbass." 

"ZIM IS NOT DUMB! Nor is he what you call an… Ass! You were meant to stay in stasis forever, this was no part of my plan!" "You really didn't have a plan B for if I did, somehow, wake up? Sounds like a dumbass to me." "I AM NOT A DUMB-ASSSSS!" "Are too." "I AM NOT!" "You are." "AM NOT!" "Alright, I'm not doing this. I'm going home." 

Dib swings his gangly langs over the cool metal, wincing with pain as his sore feet press against the hard titanium floor. His waist, too aches, and Dib realizes that his stomach feels rather sore. Oh, yeah. Zim had cracked his ribs during their battle. It seems hard to forget, but in the aftermath of what just happened, it fell to the wayside in his mind's list of priorities. 

However, gauze covers the bulk of his ribs, neatly wrapped and rather clean. Had Zim really bothered to care for him? Quite a sentimental move for a heartless alien invader. And, now that he thinks about it, so was his "evil" scheme of pacifying Dib with a dream world, one where he'd feel content and cared-about for the rest of his life. It's all rather soft hearted. As soft-hearted as a hostile alien can get, anyways.

"Hey," Dib speaks up. Zim turns to look at Dib, still rubbing the dark green boot print on his face. "Thanks." Zim's eyes narrow in response. "For _what?"_ "For at least trying to be decent to me. Even if you still failed miserably at everything you tried." 

Dib hobbles to his feet and looks around, trying to remember where the exit is. It's been awhile since he's been down here, but he's sure he'll find his way sooner or later. Zim begins screeching something about Irkens being incapable of mercy, and how everything he does serves no positive purpose towards the enemy, but Dib tunes it out. After four years of dealing with him, it's an acquired skill. 

Dib finds his way to the top floor, and everything afterwards is a blur. He vaguely responds to GIR's greetings from the couch, he registers the feeling of late night rain soaking his coat through, but nothing much else is on his mind on his way home. All he can bother to think about is how much he wishes taxis came through at this time. 

He treks through the city, the night quiet and lonely, and finds his mind wandering to his mother every now and again. When he sees the city library being torn down and replaced by a Burger Kuck, he wonders vaguely what she'd have thought of that. Her will had left her vast book collection to it, after all, and Dib feels a pang in his chest when he thinks of all the books she'd once read to them being thrown in a municipal dumpster.

Dib stops trying to notice anything other than his feet pounding the pavement the rest of the way home.

After a silent while, Dib approaches his house. His big, beautiful, completely empty house. He rings the doorbell, slicks his cowlick out of his face, and pray that some miscellaneous robo-servant answers the door. He's not in the mood to get a "I raised you better,why can't you be more responsible?" lecture. 

Dib's stomach sinks when the heavy door swings open, revealing the massive frame of Professor Membrane looming over him. He blows out a breath and prepares to be reamed, but instead, gets pulled close and squeezed so hard he thinks he might burst. No control or submission, just a gesture driven by pure relief and elation. 

"Dad, dad, calm it! You're gonna break my rib aga-``''Goodness, Dib, where were you? Where did you go? I was worried sick, and so was your sister! I don't know what act of teenage rebellion this was supposed to be, but-" Dib pulls away, catching his breath and nursing his throbbing, aching waist.

"I wasn't even gone that long, Dad! You're freaking out over nothing- ``''It's been nearly two weeks, Dib, I have every reason to be worried about my son just disappearing on me for two entire weeks!" 

Two weeks? He'd been in the hologram for two weeks? Zim had practically held him hostage, and Dib wasn't even aware. What a bastard that green munchkin could be. 

"Dad, I- I didn't do it on purpose! I didn't just up and leave, I- ``''Then where did you go? What happened, Dib? Give me an explanation! Give me something to calm my mind, something that makes up for the two weeks of worrying myself sick, thinking I'd let you get killed!" 

Any spark of argumentative anger Dib has is snuffed out in an instant. Did Membrane actually _care_ that his son, a colossal failure and the family embarrassment, disappeared without a trace? But then it hits Dib like a freight train, once he thinks for a second on his father's words: "- _I'd let you get killed!"_

Lucretia, just like her son had, left with the parting promise of being back soon. A trip to the South Americas and a trip to the "game store" downtown were vastly different, but either way, both still held the promise of returning. Of coming back home. But Lucretia's trip, just like Dib's, stretched from days into weeks. Worry grew into paranoia. 

Membrane had been cooking for his children when the phone call came. A phone call from God-knows-where in the world, and a heavily accented man speaking to him. He couldn't catch quite all of it, but he could certainly catch " _ancient_ _ruins collapsed"_ and " _wife crushed to death"_ and " _she was beyond saving, we're sorry, sir"._

A single phone call brought his entire world crashing down, and who was to say that it couldn't crash down twice? In Membrane's mind, Dib damn well might've met a fate just as painful and lonely as his wife's, and he'd have to deal with the torturous "would've-could've-should've" thoughts all over again. 

Dib certainly didn't choose to leave. He didn't run away. He could have explained that he was actually innocent, and that it was Zim's doing, and every other detail of the very, very long story, but in the end, Dib found that he didn't care about defending himself. The fact that his father really truly _didn't_ want him to get lost meant the world to him, and even if it meant Dib had to nod along to whatever assumptions his father made, he'd take it.

"Dad, I… I didn't realize you cared so much." "Dib, what on Earth makes you think I wouldn't care?" "It's just that… when Mom died, you… you just kinda got rid of her. I thought maybe you'd do the same to me." 

Membrane looks taken aback. Dib's throat clamps shut for a second, thinking he's just incited the same wrath in him that Gaz had all those years ago. Dib doesn't know what came over him, nor what made the words spill out of him, but he instantly regrets it. He tries to squeak out an "I'm sorry", but Membrane scoops him up in a tight hug before he can.

"I never should've let you think I don't care about you, and I sure as heck shouldn't have let you think I don't care about your mother anymore. I'm so sorry, son." 

Even through the sopping wet fabric of his coat, Dib feels the metallic warmth of Membrane's robotic arms, seeping through every inch of his skin. This is the same kind of hug Lucretia gave him, one that's purposeful and gentle all at once, and despite his best efforts to not cry again, Dib feels the tears leaking before the rest of him can even react. 

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I love you." "I love you, too, Dib. Don't _ever_ scare me like that again - your old man can only handle so much worrying. Can you promise me that, Dib?" "I promise, Dad." 

The hug ends, and Membrane uses his broad thumb to wipe the tears from Dib's frost-nipped cheeks. Membrane squeezes his shoulders, and for a brief moment, pulls down his coat collar to show his smile. It feels like years since Dib's seen his dad's smile - since he even saw his face, for that matter. It's a small gesture, but Dib knows how much it means between them.

To Dib's surprise, Membrane plants a kiss on his forehead, and uses his large hands to pat the top of his head. Membrane them pulls up his lab coat again, clears his throat, and stands tall. 

"Well, Dib, I am glad you're okay… but there will still be consequences to your actions. I'm afraid I'll have to ground you for a year - I know a lot of this was _my_ fault, but that doesn't excuse running away." Membrane tries remaining firm, but his voice isn't as matter-of-fact as it usually is. Dib knows he won't admit it, but it doesn't take much to notice that Membrane is uncharacteristically sappy. 

Dib sniffs and nods, a smile forming. "Yeah. Yeah, that seems fair." Membrane's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Well, then… You… you took that rather well, son. Now then! Go take a hot shower and get to bed. You may get hypothermia if you don't dry off and get warm. I'll be off to my lab. Tell me if you need anything." 

Membrane begins to step away, but Dib stops him in his tracks. "WAIT!" he cries, racing to his father's side. Membrane is caught off guard, his goggles lifted - was he wiping his eyes? - as he looks down at his son. "What's the matter, son?" Dib squares his shoulders, takes in a deep breath, and steels his resolve. "Can you… can you tell me about Mom?" 

Membrane looks at Dib with a fondness in his eyes, and though Dib can't see it behind the coat, he can tell from the way the corners of his eyes crinkle that he's smiling.

"Oh, I… I suppose so. Fetch your sister, will you? She deserves to hear, too. But before you grab her, I'll tell you a bit about how we met. When I began to take a course on biological anthropology in college - as I had already taken every other conceivable science class - a certain girl in my course always made sure to make _me_ get the textbooks off the high shelf, so she wouldn't have to…" 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please drop a kudos and a comment. If you didn't, feel free to leave constructive feedback/your thoughts on why. I'm always looking to grow as a writer. I'm always grateful for insight either way. And of course I can't thank my lovely beta reader and great friend pastel enough! This wouldn't be possible without her.


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